So in an attempt to revive this blog (though it remains to be seen for how long), I've decided to write about something that's been getting a lot of press lately: the closing of El Bulli. As most people know, El Bulli is a restaurant in Spain that has been consistently ranked as the best in the world. With its closing, food critics have waxed nostalgic about how El Bulli has revolutionized the way we eat food with its forays into molecular gastronomy. But there's also been an increasing number of people that have wondered aloud what impact El Bulli has actually had, given that (1) very few regular people (i.e. non critics, celebrities, etc) were able to eat at El Bulli due to its massive waiting list, and (2) it's not a replicable concept since El Bulli employs 40 chefs for 50 people a night. I'm not sure where I stand.
Some people call me a foodie. What does this term actually mean? I think it has taken on a form of food snobbery, where a foodie won't dare to eat anything deemed Philistine. Do I like good food? Of course, but who doesn't like good food? But what does good food mean? I've briefly touched upon this in previous blog posts, but I think this is where my thoughts of what a foodie is versus the general consensus diverge.
Back in San Diego, when I ate out, the restaurants I ate at the most were: Pho Ca Dao, Do Re Mi, and the banh mi place on Mira Mesa boulevard. For those unfamiliar, that's a Vietnamese coffee shop, a Korean coffee shop, and a Vietnamese deli. Probably next on that list was Rubio's (pretty much twice a week for lunch) and some form of a burger place, whether In N Out, Island's or Fuddrucker's, all of which are chain restaurants. None of these places ever end up on San Diego's "Best Restaurants" list (though people do love In N Out). So where does the foodie label come into play?
I think we're all seduced a bit by fine dining. With the increased popularity of celebrity chefs and the Michelin stars, it's become another luxury item, along the lines of LV bags or nice watches. You can't go wrong by saying, "I was able to secure reservations at a 3-Michelin-starred restaurant, and the food was incredible!" Fine dining has definitely become entrenched as a part of the high life, and you aren't sophisticated unless you have sampled food from chefs like Adria, Ripert, and Blumenthal, or the finest wines from not only France, but Australia, Chile, and Napa. And though I haven't tried El Bulli or Fat Duck, I have been to the likes of Le Bernardin and Chez Panisse, and I usually try to make an effort to try these highly regarded restaurants. So how do I reconcile my seemingly divergent food tastes, from Pho Ca Dao to Le Bernardin? Why do I scour the food blogs for the best meals in not only the cities I live in, but the ones I visit too? Why do I feel that I am missing out on not having eaten at El Bulli, yet understand when journalists declare that those who write I Ate At El Bulli Pieces are really just practicing forms of public masturbation? I think it boils down to value.
Most people don't have the means to eat fine dining very often. So in deciding whether to splurge hundreds of dollars for one meal that lasts for only a few hours, I think people want to know that the food is amazing, and not just something that they could make at home. And too often, fine dining establishments prepare a simple tuna tartare or grilled protein, and it just isn't very inventive for the price they charge. And I think the majority of the fine dining establishments, Michelin-starred restaurants included, work to this effect. Yes, the ingredients are fresh. But if you're just going to pan sear some duck and finish it in the oven, I don't expect to pay over $100 USD for it. I know generally how much nice ingredients cost, and while you may cook it slightly better than I would myself, it's not worth that much more. And because fine dining has turned into this luxury item, restaurants can get away with it. The Michelin star has given people who don't even care about food the means to claim status and induce envy. Also, most well-respected fine dining establishments require reservations well in advance, which only adds to the exclusivity. Fine dining in a way has become more of a brand, which makes it harder and harder to figure out where the value is. And so I search for this value, and most times, I'm somewhat disappointed by this metric, but sometimes there are great places like Quay's lunch, or Club Chasse's a la carte menu, reminding me of why I scour blogs for the best food recommendations.
The problem is that there's little middle ground in food circles. People either say the best food is in fine dining, or the best food is in hole-in-the-wall restaurants. I know that neither statement is true. Just as fine dining has developed a brand, so too has the hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Just because it's no frills doesn't mean that it serves great food. Plenty of hawker stalls and coffee shops in Singapore are not very good. Sometimes the meat isn't that fresh, the noodles aren't cooked properly, the food is over-seasoned. It may be only $3 SGD, but it's probably not even worth that sometimes. Yes, from an absolute basis, it's not quite the same as fine dining, but there's still no value there.
Food has started to take on the same form as films, with fine dining representing the large celebrity blockbusters and hole-in-the-walls representing the small, independent films. And there tends to be a divergence among the supporters of each, but it is up to us as consumers to find value across the entire spectrum. We're not always in the mood for the same thing; sometimes we may want a multiple course kaiseki, and other times maybe local snacks or home style food. I think when we talk about food, we often miss this point. People say there's only good food and bad food, but this isn't quite true. I think mood and what you're looking for can really influence what tastes good and what doesn't. If I've had a week of really light and clean flavors, maybe I'm looking for something bold and heavy. If I've eaten a lot of meat recently, maybe I want some really nice vegetables. ew was sick when we went to Le Bernardin, and to her, the food was nothing to write home about. Oftentimes, we wait hours in line for a table, or have to plan months in advance for a reservation--do these hurdles impact our dining value proposition? Absolutely. Why wait in line for half an hour for the "best" chicken rice, when you may be able find a comparable version without a wait. All these things factor into food value. And so while I lament never having tried El Bulli, it never was a realistic option for me. It's an indulgence, a splurge ... something that really doesn't matter in my day-to-day search for the best food to eat.
